


A Fool's Hope

by amyfortuna



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gap Filler, Gen, Missing Scene, Oaths & Vows, Ring of Barahir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-23 01:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11979030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: Beren comes to Nargothrond and talks over his situation with Finrod.





	A Fool's Hope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bunn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunn/gifts).



"My Lord Finrod!" 

Finrod's head turned in the direction of one of the guards of the city calling him out of quiet contemplation in the garden. "Esgalon," he said, as the guard came to a halt before him. He tilted his head, noticing the signs of agitation Esgalon wore. "What is the matter?"

"We've captured someone seeking entrance to the city," Esgalon said. "A Man. And he bears, so he says, your ring as token of his safe passage."

Finrod's eyes got very wide and he stood up, raising both his eyebrows and his ears. "Barahir lives, then!"

"No, my lord," Esgalon said. "This Man gave his name as Beren. He says that he is the son of Barahir."

"I see," Finrod said. He paused for a moment, considering. "Take him to the rooms my sister uses when she is here. Give him food and a chance to rest and refresh himself. In three hours, bring him to me in my own rooms. I will greet him in private." 

\----

"We have met before, Beren son of Barahir," Finrod said as Beren bowed before him, the ring prominently displayed on his finger. "You were but a child then."

"I remember it well, my lord," Beren said, straightening up. "I was sixteen, and already passing out of childhood, when my grandfather died, and you came to Dorthonion for his funeral, the last time you came to us there. Well I recall your words to my great-aunt Andreth, as you stood beside your horse ready to depart. You called her 'sister,' and she laughed, and we were greatly puzzled."

Finrod gave him a smile, something of the watchful sternness in his face relaxing. "So I did," he said. "Come then, Beren, son of Barahir, sit beside me, and tell me of what has passed in Dorthonion, since I was last there. Naught good, or you would still be there, I am sure of it, but it is news I must have. Does your father live still?"

"No, alas," Beren said, taking a seat on the low divan near the fireplace. "I am alone, of all my people, and have seen such horrors that I cannot bear yet to think on them. We defended Dorthonion for as long as we could, making safe the lands where our women and children fled, until we were betrayed, and all slain save me. I had my vengeance, but once the land was empty and silent, I could stay there no longer." 

He took a deep breath before continuing. "I crossed the Ered Gorgoroth and went down into Nan Dungortheb. Do not ask what I faced in that crossing! I came at last to the Forest of Neldoreth, and passed, all unwittingly, through the fences of Melian into the Guarded Land. And there, there I beheld her: Lúthien daughter of Thingol, dancing in a glade in midsummer. It is because of her that I come to you." 

Finrod stirred a little, the depths of his eyes shifting as though great thoughts were beginning to wash over him, but he said nothing, and only nodded for Beren to continue. 

"I would not have come to you," Beren said, "if it was only I that loved. I do not wish to win her like a _prize_." Tears filled his eyes, but did not fall, and his next words were quiet and full of awe. "But she loves me in return, and has placed her hand in mine."

Finrod's eyes went very wide, and he looked Beren up and down, and then suddenly, without warning, as though it were impossible to hold back, burst out laughing, turning away from Beren, gasping and shaking with uncontrollable mirth. "Ah, Andreth, Andreth, what would you say to me now?" he cried out as Beren sat confused and staring. "What is it between your family and mine? What great purpose of Doom is this?" After a moment, he recovered himself, wiping at his eyes, still unable to keep the smile off his face. "Forgive me, Beren! I did not mean to laugh. So my cousin loves you! That is well."

Beren tilted his head, looking at Finrod warily, before he continued. "She loves me, it is true, and I love her. Her father loves me not. We exchanged high and hostile words, and now I am bound on an errand that he surely intended to be for my death." 

Finrod's face went sober as quickly as it had gone to laughter. "What is your errand, Beren?" 

"He bids me fetch a Silmaril from the Iron Crown for him as a bride-price for her." Beren shook his head. "I have never seen a Silmaril, but compared to the light in Lúthien's eyes, it is as the merest trinket." 

"So speaks the voice of love," Finrod said, shaking his head with a sad smile. "I _have_ seen a Silmaril, Beren, and moreover I have seen the power and might of Angband. It is plain that Thingol does intend your death. You did well to come to me." He propped a hand under his chin and studied Beren for a moment. "I could write to him and plead your case, or ask my sister Galadriel to do so. Her voice might be more influential than mine, for she is wed to one of Thingol's close kin." 

Beren shook his head again. "He did not listen to Lúthien herself when she pleaded for me, nor to the Queen Melian when she gave warning that he should beware of the fate that awaits me, for it is bound with his. He will not listen to any counsel, not even yours, my lord." 

"I wish I could say I was surprised to learn of the stubbornness of Elu Thingol, but alas, I am not," Finrod said, leaning back on the couch for a moment. "But the doom he has named for you goes beyond his own purposes, and wakes a great wrath from slumber, for the Silmarils are bound to the Oath that the sons of Fëanor have sworn, and they will ruin all before they suffer any other to possess them." Beren was silent, and then Finrod spoke again, reaching out a hand. "Let me see the ring you wear!"

Beren dutifully took it off and dropped it in the Elvenking's hand. "Surely you recall it?" he said. 

"My father made it for me to celebrate my coming of age," Finrod said. "It's not a thing I'm likely to forget!" He turned it over in his hand, the light of memory shining in his eyes. "If it had not been for your father's bravery, it would be lost in the Fen of Serech, along with me. I gave him an Oath of my own, and to that I will hold. Take back your ring, son of Barahir!" He handed it back to Beren, who placed it on his hand, and then Finrod stood, restlessly pacing the plush carpet, as though he could no longer sit still and needed to think. 

"Two of the sons of Fëanor dwell in my halls," Finrod said after a moment. "You may have heard them named as Celegorm the Fair and Curufin the Crafty. They have not challenged my right to rule this place that I have built, but yet they have power in my realm, and lead many of their own people." He turned and fixed Beren with a piercing gaze. "They will show you neither friendship nor mercy if your quest is known, nor to me if I support you."

"What shall I do, then?" Beren asked. "Your Oath holds, you say, but I do not even know the exact wording of it, only that my father told me to come to you if ever I was in dire need. I thought only to ask for food and rest, for armour and weapons. Can this be done in secret?" 

Finrod's shoulders slumped and he shook his head. "You ask for nothing more than guest-right, Beren, and that does not fulfil the Oath I have sworn. I promised abiding friendship and aid in any need, and your need goes beyond food, rest, armour and weapons, does it not? You need a Silmaril, and so I must go with you, even if it means my death." He dropped back down upon the couch again, and looked across at Beren, who sat stiff and still, as if in shock. "Do not fear, Beren! I do this willingly, not only for the Oath I have taken, but for love of your family, who have been dear to me ever since I heard them singing around a campfire in Ossiriand. I do this for Bëor, and for Boron, and for Bregor, and for Andreth, and for Barahir, and for you. I do this for all who remain of the House of Bëor, and for all who in years to come will count Bëor as their ancestor. And I will do it openly, for we will need companions in our journey. Two alone cannot face the Dark Lord on his throne." 

Finrod held out his hand. "I will go with you until you achieve your Quest or until I perish in the attempt." 

Beren took Finrod's hand, tears once again in his eyes. "It is a fool's hope to think we can achieve this, where armies have failed. Yet then let us be fools, my lord, and we may stand a chance."

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. I invite and appreciate feedback, including:
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End file.
